Switched!
by 7thDivisionCapt
Summary: America and Russia find themselves in a precarious situation where they swapped bodies! For the sake of maintaining peace and to avoid chaos, both nations agreed to keep their problem as a secret to the world until they find a way to solve the problem.
1. Chapter 1

"Brother, wake up."

Silence.

"Big brother, the meeting's over." A hand touched his shoulder and shook him lightly.

"Mm… Canada, five more minutes."

"W-what?! Why do you call me that?! Brother, wake up!"

SLAP!

The painful sound echoed through the, almost, empty meeting hall, along with an exclamation of surprise coming out from the male's lips. He shot up immediately, one hand covering the reddened cheek as he looked at the girl who just slapped him.

"What the hell Belarus! Why'd you do that!?"

Suddenly he froze. Whose voice was that? He craned his head to the side, scanning around the room. There was no one in there but him and the Belarusian.

Strange, he was sure he had heard a familiar voice. He frowned.

Belarus eyed him, looking concerned with her brother's odd behavior. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Brother, are you okay?"

"Huh, what?" His head snapped back to look at her incredulously. Did she just call him brother? As long as he remembered, he was only related to a certain nation which everyone always seemed to forget – Canada – and not the crazy, creepy nation with a brother complex problem.

"I'm not–" There it was again, the voice that wasn't his. Only now did he realize that it came from his own mouth. Why did he sound like Russia? And why was Belarus calling him brother? Everything didn't make sense.

"Brother? Why do you talk like that?" Belarus noticed that her beloved brother did not have his usual accent when talking. Something felt off, not to mention how strange her brother was acting. He wasn't even shaking – in pure happiness, she decided – when he saw her.

It roused her suspicion and worry. She wanted to know what he was thinking.

America didn't answer. He was too preoccupied with a lot of musings and deductions. He remembered having a dream of him and Russia talking before a drunken, and pissed, England wobbled about, swinging his white stick with a star-shaped plastic jewel on its edge wildly, and then the world turned black.

It was weird, and somehow felt too real to be a dream.

America didn't know why he suddenly remembered it, but he had a hunch that it had something to do with the situation he was in now.

Suddenly, he felt lightheaded and had to sit back down on the seat. Belarus looked even more concerned than ever.

"What has been bothering you, brother…?" she gently held his hand with her own as she looked at the taller nation, her big eyes anxious.

America looked down at their hands, and at that moment he realized it wasn't his own.

Sure he felt the physical contact, but something – a lot of _somethings_ – felt wrong. Like the size of his hand; the glove which he was sure didn't belong to him, then when his gaze trailed from his hand to the sleeve of his coat—

Coat?

"What…" again with that voice. It came out from his mouth, but he sounded different, like he was dubbed by someone else—

 _By Russia._

"Holy shit!" the loud swearing made Belarus flinched in surprise.

In the blink of an eye, the taller nation had disappeared from the meeting hall. Belarus only then understood when she heard the door slam closed.

-x-

Rough breaths.

Hasty steps.

A panicked look written all over his face.

America managed to stumble his way into the male bathroom. Without so much as a second to rest, he made his way towards the mirror.

He held his breath as he looked at his reflection in pure horror.

Instead of seeing the frame-wearing, wheat color haired, young man with a strand of hair sticking out, defying gravity, he came to see his ex-enemy looking back at him with a similar expression – horror.

"R-Russia! What are you–"

Why was Russia imitating his actions?

America raised a hand. Russia did too. America stuck out his tongue, Russia also did the same. America made different weird poses, stupid faces, flailing his arms around wildly and even _danced_ , still Russia followed through without missing a beat.

Now he wasn't sure if he was facing Russia, or merely his own reflection.

America stopped what he was doing, standing up straight and tense, his hand slowly reached up and touched his cheek. "Russia" did the same.

"…Shit."

It took him a while to understand, but once he did, he fainted.

-x-

Russia groaned. He turned around in his half-sleep state to find a comfortable position, but couldn't. The bed seemed so hard and cold, there was no pillow underneath his head.

He should wake up now.

Eyes slowly fluttering open, he tried to focus his gaze, but what met his eyes was blurred world. Russia closed his eyes again for a moment, thumb and index finger rubbed his eyelids gently, hoping it could make his vision clear again, before opening his eyes once more.

Yet nothing changed. Everything and everywhere was still blurry.

He sighed. Sure, it was strange to suddenly be almost blind, but he had been through worse—not to mention weirder—times of his long life that he wasn't going to be unsettled by this so easily.

From what he could make out, he wasn't in his bed, but on the floor.

How odd. How could he be here?

Russia was going to stand up when something fell off from his dress shirt. He picked it up and inspected it closely.

 _Oh, glasses._

Deciding to wear them, Russia was thankful now he could see more clearly with them. He observed the empty room. It looked like he was still in the meeting hall.

Standing up, the nation walked out from the room. He noticed that somehow, everything seemed taller than him. For instance, the painting of an 18th century noble woman on the wall. He saw her as he walked out of the room. He remembered when coming here, he didn't have to look up to see the painting, but now he had to so he could see her face.

Then the small table in the hallway. He was sure its height was below his hips, but now that he passed it, the height had increased to his waist – just slightly below.

Had he gotten shorter, or was the world was getting taller?

 _Ridiculous_ , he chuckled silently. Russia stopped in front of the door to his room, about to reach for the handle when something stopped him; a vibration coming from the pocket of his bomber jacket.

Wait…

His thoughts were forced to stop and be pulled back to reality, when the phone once again vibrated.

Russia fished out the device from his pocket, reading the name shown on the screen.

 _England, huh?_

He pressed the answer button and put the phone to his ear.

" _Privet_ , Britain."

Only now did Russia notice his voice sounded different.

"America. It's you, is it not?"

" _Nyet_ , it is Russia."

"Stop imitating Russia's accent. No matter how many times you alter your way of speaking, I can still tell it's you."

"But, Britain–"

"Shut up! I'm calling you to remind you about tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Bloody hell, you've forgotten already?" England sighed heavily. "Tonight, nine o'clock, at our usual pub. Don't be late."

Before Russia could say anything else, there was a beep sound and the call ended.

Russia was wondering why on earth England had mistaken him as America, but it was all answered when the phone's screen turned off, showing the face of his used-to-be enemy. It sure was not a video call for the screen was black. He glanced behind him, and found no one.

He looked back to the device in his hand, and America's face was still there, staring back at him.

KOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKLOKOLKOLKOLKOL

 _No. way. No freaking way. This was not happening._

Russia threw his (America's!) phone on the wall, breaking it in half before pushing open the door in front of him with so much force the lock snapped. He didn't even need to use the key.

The voice of an angry Belarus could be heard thereafter.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, America?!"

To his surprise, he found Belarus in his room…

On his bed…

Straddling himself – well, his unconscious, shirtless self over there…

 _Like she was ready to ravish him._


	2. Chapter 2

First of all, I'd like to thank my Beta for helping me with this story! You know who you are *winkwink* and thank you all for the comments/reviews!  
Since in the first chapter I didn't put any disclaimer I will put it here now. I don't own Hetalia or the characters, it all belongs to the one and only Himapapa.

And without further delay, here I present you chapter two!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If looks could kill, he would have died a thousand times by Belarus' wrathful glare. She jumped down from the mattress. With painfully slow strides she approached, getting closer and closer as seconds passed by. Her hand slid down to her side, feeling the knife banded to her thigh that was carefully hidden under her dress; bound and determined to take it out in case she had to resort to violence (which she would, if the damned American refused to leave). Belarus never let her eyes waver from the American.

"You better have a very good reason for you to interfere with my personal time with brother," she said, voice dripping with venom.

Russia walked backward each time she took a step forward to maintain their current distance. _Dear sweet heavens I wouldn't want to get close to her when she's like this._

"S-syestra..." _Uh-oh_ , he reproached himself inwardly. _She will not recognize me if I look like America._ Before Belarus could respond, he immediately added. "I- I mean Belarus! I am sorry for disturbing you and your…" A quick glance at the insensible figure on the bed before refocusing back on Belarus. "…brother."

Somehow the atmosphere felt suffocating. Maybe he was the only one feeling it because of the dread to face his sister in a bad mood (and because her anger seemed to be directed at him, her _actual_ brother).

 _What should I do? How do I get her out of here and away from my… other self?_ That sure sounded strange.

While he was racking his brain to find a coherent reason to be here, Belarus' voice suddenly slapped him out of it. "I might forgive you if you go, now."

"But–"

"I will give you three seconds to leave. One."

"Bela–"

"Two." The female nation took out her hidden knife, its edge pointing dangerously at the opposite party.

Russia raised both of his hands in front of his chest while he continuously took steps back until his spine pressed against the wall. "Please, listen to–"

"Three." With that, she threw the knife at him without hesitation, aiming for his head.

He managed to duck just in time thanks to his quick reflexes. The knife stuck in the wall, too deep for it to fall down.

He looked at it momentarily before facing Belarus again. She already had another knife in her hand and was about to throw it again. However, a gasp coming from another end of the corridor stopped her.

"Belarus! What are you doing?" Both she and Russia diverted their gaze from one another to the new arrival, who was looking at them with wide, puzzled eyes.

The said person – Ukraine – jogged closer to get a better assessment of the situation. Her large bust made bouncing sounds every time she took a step forward. It was a tad uncomfortable to hear, but neither of them wanted to say anything about it.

"Sister," Belarus addressed, placing the knife where it belonged, concealing it from Ukraine's sight. The last thing Belarus wanted to see was her older sister being worked up by a mere knife. Only to give her a long, inconsequential scold about how dangerous it was to carry it around.

But her attempt to cover up her peccadillo proved to be useless because there was still one left, stuck to the wall firmly for everyone to see. When Ukraine spotted it and how America was slumped down below, terrified, Ukraine's jaw dropped.

"W-what were you trying to do to America, Belarus?" Her eyes glassy, shimmering tears threatening to spill as she faced her younger sister.

Belarus _tch-_ ed, crossing her arms as she looked sideways. "He was asking for it." Her monotonous intonation, that soon turned an octave higher with accusation; like it was all America's fault for the situation to turn out like this. "He was being a nuisance! He disturbed me and brother!"

"But that is no way to treat someone! It's too harsh and impolite. Belarus, you know better. The…" And _blah blah_. Ukraine elaborated more than was necessary. The Belarusian, despite not wanting to hear her sister's scolding, said nothing about it and just silently hoped it would end soon.

While Russia, seeing the two sisters distracted and was not paying attention to him, decided that this would be the best time to take action and flee with his corpus. Leaving it with Belarus was, clearly, out of question. In a flash he squeezed past the younger sister who was standing in the doorway – leading her to fall for she was not expecting for such thing to happen – then scooped up the motionless individual on the bed using an arm, slinging him over his shoulder. Russia did not forget to snatch the pale pink colored shawl and beige coat that was folded neatly on the nightstand.

"Hey!" An audible shout escaped from Belarus' lips as she watched her brother being kidnapped by the American. She immediately stood on her feet and raced after them, but gained nothing seeing that the male managed to crash through the window, just before she could get hold of him.  
"No! Give him back!" she screamed, looking down from the busted window at the two nations being pulled downhill extremely fast by gravity. She wanted to jump as well, but soon found herself unable to move. Ukraine seemed to know her intention as she held her little sister in place by hugging her firmly.

"Let go of me!"

"No! It's too dangerous!"

Belarus was well aware of that. They were, after all, on the fifth floor of the hotel room. Only lunatics, desperate, or suicidal people would jump from that high. Or in America's case, superpower nation who couldn't be killed easily. She growled, struggling to get free from Ukraine's grasp.

 _You can't run from me, America. I will get to you sooner or later._

-x-

Russia panted heavily. Sweat dripped from his temple, neck, chest, nearly everywhere. The adrenaline rush finally caught up to him where he needed to quit running. He stopped at a certain narrow alleyway, away from the main road and people's eyes. He juxtaposed his real body beside him, their backs against the wall.

"What should I do now..." He muttered under his breath, blue eyes behind the framed lenses staring at the still-unconscious one next to him. It felt weird, watching himself from another's point of view. _So this is how I look like to someone else. Though I look more presentable._

At this point, he began to think about many things. Like questions which he did not know whom to ask. Assumptions about possible reasons regarding his unbelievable circumstance. And the most important thing; if he was inside America's body, was America in his?

Russia did not know how long he was staring and pondering, but when he came to, an orange hue had painted the sky, followed by a stir and yawn coming from the figure beside him. Eyelids slowly parted open to reveal violet irises.

America had awoken, and the first thing he noticed was the temperature.

"Cold..." He mumbled.

"...Then, wear this." Another voice replied, then something hit his face; the soft fabric of a long overcoat. America moved it away from his face, staring at it long and hard (as hard as any sleepy person could) like he needed some time to get his brain to work again. _I'm sure I've seen this coat before..._

"Uh... Isn't this look like the one Russia always wears?"

" _Da_ , it is mine."

Looking to the side to see who was speaking, America's eyes widened, suddenly he couldn't find his voice. He was unable to speak.

"Wha...?" Mouth open, then closed, then opened again. Like a fish being pulled out from the water.

"Are you... m-me?"

From that question, Russia's guess about America in his body had proven to be correct.

"No, America. I am not you."

"But you look exactly like me."

"And you look _exactly_ like me."

"So, we're the same. You're my doppelganger then."

"No, I am not."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why do you look like me then?"

"It actually makes sense because we are _not_ the same person."

"Then are you..." _What's his name again?_ The one who looks like him – his neighbor; brother even. "Uh– Can... Canada?"

"No."

America groaned. "So, who the hell are you?"

There was a long pause like he was debating whether to tell or not.  
"Russia."

"Dude! That's not even funny!"

Russia fabricated a smile which looked fake and unfit to be seen in America's visage. "How about you see your face first and tell me, whether this is a joke or not."

America frowned but did as he was told. There was a small puddle of water stagnated on the ground not far from where they were sitting. So he walked over to it to see what his face looked like in the reflection.

Then everything that had had happened from the moment he woke up in the meeting room, Belarus' behavior, the bathroom mirror, all came back to him.

"Well... _shit._ "

"Indeed."


	3. Chapter 3

" _If you could live someone else's life, who would you want to be?"_

" _What kind of question is that?"_

" _Ve~ just answer it, America! Or should I go first?" Italy exhaled. "I wish I was... a cat!"_

" _That sounds like something Greece-san would say." Japan piped in. America laughed, then Italy went on explain why he wanted to be a cat._

" _-that way, I can siesta or play or eat whenever I want! When I want attention I can just come to Germany's lap and stare at him with my big eyes and meowing and-and-"_

" _Whoa, slow down and take a breath, Italy-"_

" _-at night I can sleep beside him without worrying about falling down from his bed because you know, Germany's bed is cramped! But I like sleeping there because-"_

" _Italy! Stop talking!" Abruptly the addressed nation came to Italy's side and clamped a hand over the Italian's mouth, face flushing red hot of embarrassment amalgamated with annoyance. The red head nation subsided. Man, and he was so excited to tell others about his improbable dream being that of a cat. Sigh._ Germany, you're no fun.

 _The hand that covered his mouth soon withdrew when Italy had calmed down. Nevertheless, the pasta-loving nation would not neglect their current topic just yet. Golden eyes regarded the blue ones before him subtlety but still with a hint of excitement and impetuous gleaming in its pupils._

" _What?" The Superpower asked, wondering what Italy wanted then realization hit him. Oh. Seemed like Italy was waiting for America to answer his question from before. "You serious?" A nod and America could not help but chuckle because Italy looked so serious and eager just to hear the answer to this silly question. He decided to humor his redhead friend._

" _I actually don't want to live someone else's life because my life already perfect," He shrugged. "But if I had to choose, I want to be someone who is equally strong as me, someone people don't want to mess with."_

 _Who could rival him in strength? Who could withstand his blows and still standing? Who, just by his mere presence shows immense power and vibe that tells not to be underestimated? There could only be one person, of course._

 _That had to be_ _ **him**_ _._

"Amérique _..." France then interrupted. "You're saying that you want to be_ Monsieur Russie _?"_

" _What? No!" The wheat blonde nation in question grossly denied, he felt goosebumps creeping up his spine just thinking of being the Russian Federation. Seriously, no._

" _Damn you and your stupid guess, France. I will never want to be him._ _ **Ever**_ _."_

* * *

Surely this was not a dream. He could feel the stinging pain when he pinched his cheek. Or when he slapped it hard, as though it could help him wake up from this transpicuous nightmare. _Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup_ –

" _Amerika_ , stop that."

But America was not hearing it. He gave himself a few more slaps. Eventually, Russia was getting fed up with it he captured the other's wrist, evincing a very irritated face. Beyond a doubt, it was because of America carelessly grazing what was not his.

"I will like it if you stop harming my face, America."

America neither said anything back nor shook off Russia's grasp. He was still scanning his reflection, looking and hoping for any changes after the slap.

Alas, nothing changed.

"Aaaaahhhh..." Lamenting in despair, America's head drooped. He was content with being his _awesome_ self and it never crossed his mind about being someone else. That one time with Italy and other nations did not count, for it simply was not a serious answer. What was more, he made it clear to everybody he never, ever, wanted to be Russia. It did not signify that he hated the Slavic nation, however. That fiery rancor had died out a long time ago and replaced by more impassive outlook, rather indifference. Some hellos and goodbyes if by chance they crossed paths before and after World Meeting, a short negligible talk when they passed each other at the café or refectory at break time out of courtesy, then when the meeting started they acted like strangers unless when talking deemed necessary.

But that was beside the point. In essence, he did not want to be anybody else but himself.

So this was a huge shock for him.

"I thought it was only a bad dream..." America murmured, face blank.

"I thought the same as well," Russia got up and a weighty sigh escaped from his lips. He did not forget to pick up the neglected coat which crumpled on the ground when America had stood up to see his reflection in the puddle of unclean water. Once again offering it to the taller one (Yes, America was taller due to their current pell-mell). "Unfortunately for us, this is a bad reality."

America looked up then took the piece of clothing and proceeded to insert arms into each sleeve. Amethyst pair of eyes locked onto the azure ones thoughtfully. "How come you're so calm?" He asked, fingers fumbling to button up the coat.

"To be frank, I am not calm at all," Russia admitted with a sigh. For a country who is far older than America, he has perfected a sangfroid attitude when facing with strained fettle. He might look like calm waters from the outside, but under it was like a perishing torrent that could decimate whatever had crossed its path. Because the situation they were in was something not to be underestimated at; this could lead to national and international damage, or worse, the next world war. What if America made use of this state of affairs to his own benefit? Like pretending to be himself with an eye to gain Russia's top-secret information, weaknesses and such then reveal it to the world, or–

"Russia, you okay?" as if on cue, he shook away the negative thoughts. Think positively, Russia. They were in better terms now compared to the old days and he had intended to keep it that way. Only just in case, he'd keep an eye to America until this predicament was solved. Russia smiled. "Yes, my apologies. I was lost in thought."

The younger nation got on his feet and gave a hum of acknowledgment while dusting off the dirt from the coat he was wearing.  
"So, what do you thing we should do now?" America inquired, keen on knowing Russia's opinion. They say, the older the wiser. Russia is far older than him, maybe he could give useful solutions?

Russia bit his lower lip, brows furrowed. "I'm not quite sure... but how about this. We find the root of our problem first then look for a way to back in our real body. What do you remember before passing out?"

Before passing out...

* * *

 _Most nations had left the conference room, save for a scanty some who opted to stay inside. Heavy rain had been pouring down dampening the earth for quite a while and showed no sign to peter out, it also brought lethargy over the heart of the host nation, England. Still and all, nobody seemed to notice this but the country of Love_ (you know who he is) _. Ever since the meeting came near to end he was aware of England's inept demeanor. The impatient tap of a finger on the table, a frown that was deeper than the usual, the constant gaze toward the window, and the suspiring sigh when he checked his phone after the meeting was over.  
Something had been bothering England; France was certain of it. He wanted to ask but knowing England, that nation would just bluntly say it was not his business._

 _But he tried anyway. Even if it might turn into bickering just like usual, so long as France could take England's mind off of whatever that was bothering him._

"Angleterre _," He slid an arm over the Brit's shoulders which swiftly swept away by England. That nation looked like he was in deep thought. He did not even bat an eye at France, knowing immediately who had touched him thus the quick action. "Not now, frog."_

" _Come on,_ mon Ami _." France pressed. "You've been restless since the meeting. What has been bothering you?"_

 _If England was surprised by France keen observation, he hid it well by keeping his façade unchanged. The twitch of his eye and a halt in his movement – even only for a split second – what gave it away.  
France praised himself inwardly for being so observant. If only he could pat his own back, hmm._

 _England was hesitant to tell France. He knew the Frenchman wished to help him, but on the other hand, he wondered if France only wanted to tease and make fun of him. Sometimes France could be the greatest friend (if you overlook the perverted side of him) and sometimes he could be the worst anyone would have ever had.  
"Look here, I-" And halt._

 _Just one look at his face and England could tell he was genuinely serious and wanted to know and help if he could. England darted his gaze elsewhere and exhaled, preparing what he was about to say next. "...It's nothing for you to get your knickers in a twist, really. I should have been with the royal family today for an outdoor tea fete." He fiddled with the pen on the table in front of him. "But as you can see, the rain hasn't ceased. Her Majesty just canceled the plan minutes ago."_ Through a text message _._

 _He was waiting for France to say something but all he heard was nothing. The silence was deafening, he could not take it after waiting for any response for almost a minute. The Englishman skittered upward, wanted to just get out from this awkward situation so he proceeded to walk out from his seat and toward the door. But before he could get a few steps he was stopped by none other than France. England whipped his head back, facing the other with a scowl. "What now?"_

" _Then just stay here. Spend time with us. I bet_ Amérique _and Canada would like that." France phrased, he was smiling._

" _Did somebody just call my name?" A familiar voice joining in, whereupon the two nations felt their shoulders being gripped with a strong force, the bones would suffer a light fracture if the pressure was to be increased even just slightly. Both knew who was behind them just by the sheer strength and that loud voice; hell, for certain every nation would recognize as the voice of the current superpower in the world, America._

" _That hurt- let go, you git!"_

"Amérique _, my shoulder! My shoulder!"_

 _France and England tried to wriggle out from America's hold but to no avail. Only when America himself removed his hands from their shoulders could they breathe in relief. Both felt sore on their shoulders._

" _You need to control your strength, America." England chided, sporting an angry glare and rounded his shoulder while rubbing the sore spot. France did the same, minus the glare._

" _Ahaha! Sorry 'bout that, Iggy!" Though he did not look sorry at all. "So, what were you talking about?"  
England kept his mouth shut, seemingly unwilling to tell so France took the initiative to fill in. and from the mischievous look on his face, oh this was not good._

"Angleterre _doesn't want to be alone all by himself tonight, so he asked me to sleep with hi-" Before France could finish, England lunged at him, sending both down to the ground. Curses and profanities came out from the self-proclaimed gentleman. For now, he looked nothing like a gentleman. Sending mindless punches that were aiming at France's face, he was not holding himself back; he really wanted to beat France up._

 _At first, France had no intention to fight back. With arms held in front of him defensively like a protecting shield to withstand England's punches. But the Brit somehow managed to pass through them and sent the fist to France's nose. Then France lost it. No one who ruins his beautiful face can get away so easily._

" _Get off me, punk!"_

" _Not until I break some of your bones, knob head!"_

 _The fighting ensued, as America was laughing at them, clearly amused and wanted not to stop the bickering. He was having too much fun watching.  
But then a nudge to his side from Canada –_how did he get there? _– And the disapproving look put a pause to his fun time. He knew what his brother wanted._

 _America's wide, toothy grin slackened to a simple smile. "Aw, c'mon bro. let them be for a bit longer. You gotta admit, it's entertaining seeing them like this."_

It is not _; Canada corrected. "But, America–" His voice was deadened by another angry yell from England. "You know what, just make them stop. Please." Canada added the last word as an afterthought._

" _If you insist~" With a singsong voice America responded and came near the two quarreling nations, pulling England by the collar to get him off from the poor French Nation. A tiny bit drop of blood cascaded down France's nose, England also had a slight bruise on his left cheekbone, ouch. "Alright, quit it you two."_

 _Scoffing, England smacked America's hand away, emerald green eyes glared daggers at France before inhaling a deep breath, eventually calming down as he let it all out slowly. Canada helped France get up from the floor._

" _Now, I ordered some burgers and cola to be delivered in my room. How about we eat it together? The four of us?"_

" _I'm planning to make some scones for myself, so no."_

" _Stop eating that disgusting black matter, it's unhealthy."_

" _I agree with_ Amérique. _"_

" _What did you just say?!"_

" _G-guys..."_

* * *

"Long story short someone brought a box – forgot who – full of bottles of liquor and somehow we ended up having a little party." America finished the story.

"I remember the last part, France invited the remaining nations who were still in the room to drink together with him. Including me."

"Ah, this reminds me of something too." Snapping his fingers, the younger nation stared wide-eyed in realization at Russia. "But we need to find England first."

Russia quirked a brow. "Care to explain why?"

"No time for that! I'll explain later when we meet him. I just need to call him real quick. Where's my phone?"

America recalled he left his phone in the pocket of his jacket which now wore by Russia. He extended his hand toward the older nation, expecting Russia to hand it to him. Yet Russia only stared at his hand then back at his face, releasing a chuckle that sounded a little like... _guilty_ and- _nervous?_ America wasn't sure but something smelled fishy and Russia reeked of it.

 _Tick tock tick tock tick tock._ Time sure felt slow when waiting.

"Dude, my phone." Still holding out his hand toward the other, now frowning a little. What took him so long to give America's phone back, really?

Russia was hesitant to say, but he had to tell the truth in the end anyway. Sighing, he rubbed his temples with a thumb and index finger. "I am sorry. But I do not have it at the moment." _I broke it out of anger back in the hotel._

"You _what?_ " America approached Russia way too close for comfort, clearly violating personal space, even gone far as to cram his hand in each pocket of the brown bomber jacket to make sure whether his phone was still there or not.

Surprised by the action, Russia took a step back and pushed America a little. The look on his face shown he was displeased by the irreverence. Even though America might do it because he was only checking for his phone (and because it was his jacket) Russia would not let him do it. "I told you, I do not have it with me right now. I left it in the hotel." He quickly explained, leaving out some details. America would've been angry if he heard about the condition of his cell thus Russia would try to fix the phone planning to hand it back to the American nation. "I'll give it to you when we get back."

That seemed to calm the younger nation a little. With a huff of breath, he looked away and replied, "Fine. Let's just visit England's house now."

"Actually, Britain called me- I mean, you, a while ago back in the hotel."

Curiosity could be seen in his eyes when America looked at Russia once again. "Oh. What did he say?"

"...Something about meeting up at the usual pub."

"Oh yeah! About that!" A fist hammered down on an open palm lightly, it came back to America that he was supposed to meet England tonight. From this dark and narrow alleyway he could see lights from the streetlamps had begun to illuminate roads and pavements, buildings had switched on their lights, the hustle and bustle and neon signs flickered to attract attention, gave forth the start of nightlife. What time was it? He'd hoped he wasn't late... they were wasting too much time talking here. "Let's just meet him there, then."

"Not before you wear this first," Russia draped the shawl around America's neck delicately, covering the bandages on it. Hesitant at first, seeing it was his beloved scarf and- well, it was America. The **Careless** America. "Don't make it dirty." Russia warned, the dark gleaming in his blue eyes as he looked at America as if saying something along the lines of _'if I see even the tiniest bit of stain on it I will end your life'_.

A strained smile crossed the younger nation's visage. Russia was really, really scary. He did not look less scary even though he had America's face now. "Aye-aye sir."

* * *

England swallowed, shoving his glass to the side. The beer did not look that enticing anymore. Suddenly America came after thirty minutes late – _and what even_ – he brought the last man he wanted to see in the world here! He wanted an explanation from America, but instead he got it from _Russia who claimed to be the real America-_

Wait, what.

 _Who told him it was his fault for he and Russia to switch bodies like this-_

No, no way.

 _Who demanded the_ _ **old man**_ _to find a way to get them back to their real bod-_

I'm not old!

"So you're saying... that _you are_ – _this_ _ **Russia**_ _in front of me_ – isn't the real Russia?" index finger pointed at the grinning figure who was sitting across him, sweats oozed down from his temple. At first, England thought it was some kind of a joke like back in the Halloween celebration a few years back; but after a lot of convincing and long explanation he ultimately believed it. England looked like he was ready to faint at any moment. He even struggled to keep his voice calm. "And this one is **not** the real America. Is that what you're saying?"

"Pretty much." 'Russia' nodded.

The table shook a little and created a ripple on the surface of the beer when England slammed his head on it and not getting up. He heard and felt the impact, but it was nothing compared to the grave mistake he had made. America had no reason to lie about switching bodies – as the boy liked to call it – with Russia. Besides from how they both behave, it was more believable that they really did switch places. America _never_ smiled that terrifyingly, Russia _never_ grinned and laughed like a goof like what he did now at the moment.

This was really bad. Ame- Russia looked calm on the surface, for now, but he wondered when the mask would uncover and show his true color. When he would chase after England's life, when he would torture England and chop him and feed his flesh to polar bears-

England cried in agony inside.

"Britain..." The Englishman shuddered to hear the voice of America so cheerful yet with a dangerous, murderous edge to it. He immediately set his back straight, forced a smile to hide his inner struggle.

"Y-yes?"

"You will help us solve this problem, _da_?" That did not sound like a request at all. That sounded like a command that if he were to fail Russia, he'd get the most painful, traumatizing experience in life waiting for him.

Knowing what was best for him, he frantically nodded his head in agreement. "O-of course. But..." England looked away, letting his eyes roam to the other tables where people having their drinks with ease, couldn't stand the stare Russia gave him. "This might take a lot of time... I need to find another spell that can revert you two back to your own bodies."

"Can't you just use the same spell?"

"If it was that easy, I would've done that right this instant." England let out a stressful sigh. "You can't... overwrite the same spell in the same object. That will not work. Just give me some time to find the right spell and all will be back to normal."

" _Whaaaat_... How long do I have to stay in this body then?" America wasn't whining. Yes, he wasn't.

Another swallow. England wasn't ready to say this for he knew how they would react. "Well... my estimation would be, a week or longer."

The table cracked under America- wait, Russia's hand (England could never get used to this sudden development) and he seemed ready to beat England to a pulp with his Magical Stick of Pain. The former Pirate shrunk down in his seat, wishing to whatever Divine Force he could disappear from here.

America had this dazed look on his face, probably brain damaged when he was trying to comprehend England's words.

...

"Oh my god- _Ohmygodohmygod_ _**OH MY GOD**_!" After what seemed like hours (though it was probably just a minute) America snapped, slammed both hands on the table and hovered over the table toward England, wide-eyed and horrified by the notion of being in this situation for a _damn_ week. England could guess that much. "You mean I have to stay in this body for a week? Seven days?! ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT HOURS?!"

"Ye- yes! For the love of- it is unnecessary to yell that out loud on my face!" England shoved his palm on America's features, successfully pushed him back.

"Англия, a week is too long. I do not have that much time, and after the conference ends, I have to see my Boss to give him my reports." Elbows on the table and fingers interlocked, he propped his chin with a thoughtful manner. Tomorrow would be their last day of World Meeting in London, the day after that Russia had to fly back to Moscow. So Russia had two days at most if he took night plane to go back. "And also, must I tell you I cannot stand being in this sorry excuse of a nation's body? It is terrible, Britain. So, so terrible."

America wanted to reciprocate with an insult too but was cut off by England.

"I am aware you have your own duties waiting for you in your country," A slight pause to take a breath. "And I will try my best to find the right spell as quick as possible, just give me time. In case even after the meeting ends and I still haven't found it yet, I have to ask you two to stay here a little longer than planned."

"That is a difficult request... my Boss does not like it when I stay out too long."

"Me too, Iggy. Boss man will demand a solid reason for me to stay longer than necessary."

"Just- just– find an excuse, whatever it is, so they will let you have few days more here, alright? I shall begin my search now. If you gentlemen have something to say, you know which number to call." He left some money on the table and helped himself up. "Good day."

" _Good day my ass_ ," America grumbled incomprehensibly, making a frustrated noise at the back of his throat as he watched his former caretaker left the place.

"Since we are going to stay this way for a while," Russia was referring to their 'switching bodies' thing, "I will make some rules. First-"

America interjected. "Oh no no no, you don't make rules with me, I will make rules-"

Unfortunately, he could not finish talking. Russia had pressed a palm flat on his mouth, and that... _that_ blue eyes had darkened to a degree that emanated the intent to kill.

 _Do not interrupt me while I'm talking._

The star-spangled nation froze, clearly got the message Russia was sending him. Pleased by how quiet America now, Russia continued. "First, I do not speak like an American. Do you understand?"

A nod.

"Good. Second, I do not laugh out loud, smile from ear to ear like a fool or eat the _garbage_ you call hamburgers and cola."

 _Hey! Hamburgers and cola are heavenly foods from heavens above!_ America frowned.

"Three, never make contact with my government, unless I tell you to."

America warded off Russia's hand from covering his mouth. "Don't think I'll just blindly agree, bud. Those rules apply to you, too. You gotta speak like me, act like and be charming like _me_ when in front of everybody. Don't act creepy like you usually do. Don't scare people off. _Don't stalk the Baltics_. Act like a hero."

There were some parts Russia would like to object, but he held his tongue knowing it would only tire him out because America would have spoken far longer about heroism and how it was bad to make the Baltic trio scared their pants off.

"I suppose it is only fair if I agree."

"Do we have the deal, then?" America asked, Russia nodded, and held out his hand to seal their deal with a handshake. Instead getting a normal handshake, America slapped their palms together, then the back of their hand then asked Russia to clench his hand into a fist before ending it with a fist bump and a 'hell yeah!'. A look of bewilderment was in Russia's face. America and his silly antics, pff.

"Now that it's taken care of, I'll see you around, bud. Gonna go back to my room." America heaved himself up, ready to leave when suddenly the shawl wrapped around his neck being yanked back, making him lose his balance and fall back down to his seat. He glared at Russia beside him. "What was that for?!" he hissed.

"We have agreed with the rules, but I have to tell you something too, America. _I still cannot trust you._ To make sure you keep the end of the bargain and not do anything stupid, I'm afraid I have to stay with you _twenty-four seven_."

 _This was going to be a looong night._

* * *

Translation:  
Англия - England


	4. Chapter 4

America stared at the bespectacled, blue-eyed, blond-haired nation who was once himself. The latter stared back with a childlike, wide smile adorning his face. It was like he had been enjoying this!

"Is something the matter, _Russia_?"

How he hated it. Loathed being called as Russia. He was, is, and forever will be the United States of America! " _Fuck_. _You_. Even in this body, I'm still America. You are Russia!"

"And the only ones who know the truth are you, me, and Britain. Even if we tell other nations or our leaders that we've switched souls, do you think they will believe? _Nyet_. No. They will never believe it. They will think it is an attempt to avoid work. They will laugh and make fun of us. Nobody believes in magic anymore, America. Well... if you exclude Britain."

Russia actually had a point. Chances are, if they had told their condition to others, they would've earned nothing but being laughed at. The anger America had been feeling was beginning to subside just a little. Getting mad at things that had happened would get them nowhere, he acknowledged that. America sucked in a deep breath, ran a hand through the beige locks. "So, what now?"

The shorter nation shouldered past America and stopped in front of large windows. Staring out at the night scenery of London city as hands clasped behind on the small of his back. The moonlight bathed him in bluish hues reminded America of some classic villain calmly enjoy the peaceful in his house while watching the chaos outside through the window. Dang, despite being in America's body, Russia could still look like a villain without trying.

"It's best if we keep this as a secret. We shall act like the usual. And by that I mean you act like me and I act like you. That way, nobody will ever get a sniff of our problem." Russia stated, craning his head to the side to look at the other nation. "And do not forget about our agreement."

" _I'm_ the hero, Russia. The man of his words. I ain't gonna back down from what I've agreed to. You on the other hand... is who the one I need to keep an eye on."

"Do not worry, America. I assure you, as long as you keep your words, I will keep mine as well."

Purple and blue eyes clashed unblinking, challenging one another like two hungry predators looking for an opening, waiting for the first one to make a move. After minutes of standing still, it was America who turned around first and ended their tense moment of staring. But it was not because he was afraid of Russia! He was hungry, and he wanted to order a food. He headed toward the bedside table, picking up the telephone and pressing the number of a certain pizza place he usually go to when he visits England. Russia was still looking at him, scrutinizing his every movement without moving from his spot.

In a happy tone, America was greeting the person on the phone before ordering a pizza and telling them the address of his room. Deeming it unimportant; Russia returned to look out the window thoughtfully.

Until America's voice pulled him back to reality again. It seemed, he had finished his talking on the phone and was directing the question toward him. Russia turned around, eyeing America.

"How long do you intend to stay here, Russia? This is my room. And I don't want you here."

"If anything, this _was_ yours and now _is_ mine, dear America. Or should I call you... Russia?" The wheat blonde replied smugly. It did not finish there. "Perhaps Belarus is already waiting for _you_ in _your_ room. But if she sees me instead of you, I don't know what will happen to this body of yours. And I'm sure you do not want to see _your body_ getting stabbed."

Of course, he did not want his _original_ figure getting stabbed by the psycho sister of this psycho dude whose known with the name of Russia! Along the way to the pub before they met England, Russia had told him what had happened when he was out. Belarus sounded like pretty scary and possessive (not to mention violent) when it came to Russia.

If she saw 'America' (by all means Russia in America's physique) sleeping in Russia's room it could be dangerous. He wouldn't want to even imagine it.

He cogitated the best option to choose in this kind of situation. **One**. If he let Russia stay here, he could monitor the older nation's behavior and movement closely. But it also meant he would be seeing Russia more often.

 **Two**. If he kicked Russia out and Russia went back to his own room, he would know nothing about what Russia would do to his flesh and bones. Or who would Russia interact with and what he would say to others. And there was Belarus.

Both sounded like a bad option. But at least the former was slightly better. America sighed heavily. "Whatever. This is still my room." He proclaimed. "You take the couch."

"That is fine by me." Casually, Russia replied. He took off the gloves he had been wearing, putting it on the bedside table. He also took the bomber jacket off and hooked it to the coat hanger near the entrance.

An hour had passed after their last interaction. America had finished the pizza and two bottles of cola minutes ago and now splayed out like roadkill on the bed in an attempt to sleep, after shed off the long overcoat and shawl, leaving him shirtless. He was not going to change the bottom because _he did not want to see Russia's junk, alright?_

How about Russia? Well, he had changed his clothes to a more comfortable one (chosen by America, surprise!) a Superman T-shirt and black trousers. At first America had insisted Russia to wear a blindfold and let him change Russia's clothes since America said he would not let Russia see his naked, glorious body. Russia had declined, saying he could change himself and besides, would not be turned on by such disgusting view, namely America's fat body. That angered the young nation and they fought for a while. Thankfully, nothing was broken. In the end America let Russia changing by himself in the bathroom.

"Whatcha reading there?" America asked once he could not stand the silence anymore. Since he could not sleep, might as well talk to Russia.

The older nation answered shortly without looking up from the book as he flipped the page. "A novel."

"I can see that. But what is it about?"

Silence. This time, Russia decided to ignore America and continue reading. He turned in his sleeping position to the side, facing the backrest of the couch. America threw a ball of a rumpled sheet of paper (where he had found it, nobody would know) out of irritation toward Russia and it bounced off Russia's shoulder blade. And again, he was ignored.

America huffed. If Russia didn't want to talk to him, he should've said it! Not ignored him like he wasn't there!

"What a prick." The beige blonde muttered under breath as he closed his eyes, a scowl on his face. Trying his best to fall asleep.


End file.
